Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Nick
I don’t like the offices of Edge Magazine.
Not one bit.
The building itself is forgettable, glass and steel wedged into Midtown like every other over-styled monument to ambition, but the atmosphere inside is calculated. An affectation of minimalism that somehow screams for attention.
I didn’t come here to be impressed.
Jonah walks beside me, silent, but I can feel the tension coming off him in waves. He knows better than to intervene when I’m in this state.
I’m not here as CEO. I’m not here as a man looking to negotiate. I’m here as someone whose patience has worn paper thin.
Sara’s face is out there. Her name, her past, her image, our children, all of it laid bare in a glossy exposé that never should’ve seen the light of day.
She trusted me. And I failed her.
I thought I’d silenced Isla. Thought I’d given her an offer she couldn’t refuse.
It’s safe to say I was wrong.
The assistant at the front desk, barely out of college by the look of her, recognizes me instantly. Her expression flickers from surprise to unease as she points toward the executive wing without waiting for me to announce myself.
Of course she knows why I’m here. They all do.
I walk the length of the corridor without hesitation.
Isla Vale is standing by the floor-to-ceiling window when I enter, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on her mouth. The skyline stretches out behind her, a backdrop she commissioned for moments just like this one.
She doesn’t offer a greeting.
“Ms. Vale,” I say, closing the door behind me. “I’m sure you were expecting me.”
Her smile sharpens. “The numbers speak for themselves, don’t you think? I made the right choice going with my news story.”
“This wasn’t news,” I say flatly. “It was an invasion.”
“Pfft, come on. You’re Nick Ashford. You’re used to the spotlight.”
“This isn’t about me.”
Isla rolls her eyes. “She’s involved with you, Nick. That makes her a story.”
I step forward. “She’s not a public figure. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t seek it. She’s carrying my children, and you exploited that for clicks.”
Isla shrugs, not even pretending to feel remorse. “You know how this works. If you don’t want attention, don’t act like a headline. I mean, this is a scandal and you know it.”
I don’t take the bait. “You had a choice. You ran it anyway.”
She walks around the desk with an air of amusement, as if she’s indulging me.
“Let’s not pretend you’re unfamiliar with consequence. You built a life on image, on exclusivity, on mystique. People don’t just want the boardroom anymore. They want the bedroom. The baby carriage. The heartbreak. You handed them a storyline they couldn’t resist.”
That’s when the door opens, and Greg Turner, the editor in chief of Edge Magazine, steps in, clearly overhearing the tail end of our argument. He’s not looking at me directly, his gaze flicking from Isla to me, and back again.
“Isla,” he says, his tone even but laced with tension. “What’s going on here?”
Isla’s face tightens, a flicker of unease passing over her expression before she masks it.
“Just a little misunderstanding. Nothing to worry about.” She turns to me, her smile shifting into something more performative. “Right, Nick?”
But I’m done playing games. I walk straight toward Greg and drop a folder on Isla’s desk, my voice firm.
“I’m not leaving until you know what’s really going on. This is what she did. Took money from me to not run a story… then ran it anyway.”
Greg takes the folder and flips through the papers quickly, his brow furrowing as he reads. Inside are the bank transfer details so he can see what happened.
“You’re telling me,” he says slowly, his voice rising with disbelief, “that she took the money and still published it?”
I nod, crossing my arms. “That’s exactly what happened.”
Isla’s face hardens, her eyes flashing with irritation, but she knows she’s caught.
Greg looks at her, then back at me, his anger rising. “Isla, you accepted a buyout, and you violated the agreement?”
Her lips tighten, but she stays silent, clearly weighing her options.
Greg takes a step back, his tone sharp. “I’m done with this. You know we don’t run sketchy tactics here.”
Isla looks up at Greg, her expression turning defensive. “This isn’t what it looks like,” she starts, her voice rising with the tension in the room. “I had my reasons—”
“No, you don’t,” Greg cuts her off, his voice sharp. “You made a choice, Isla. And it was the wrong one. You don’t take buyouts, and you certainly don’t take them and run the story anyway.”
Isla presses her lips together, clearly seething but trying to maintain composure. “I did what I thought was best for my career. I didn’t think Nick would—”
“I don’t care what you thought,” Greg interrupts, his tone now cold, authoritative. “You broke a trust, and you went against everything Edge Magazine stands for. We don’t use our platform to blackmail people, Isla. You’ve crossed a line.”
Her face reddens, frustration boiling over. “This is a smear campaign, Greg! You don’t know what—”
“I know exactly what I’m dealing with,” Greg snaps, taking a step back, his tone even sharper.
“You’ve been getting worse and worse over the last few years.
Your methods have become more and more questionable.
But this? This is unacceptable. You’re fired.
” He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “Pack up your things.”
Isla stares at him, her mouth open, trying to formulate a response, but Greg doesn’t give her the chance.
“You’ll be reimbursing the money you took. And if you want to take legal action for your firing, fine. I have a good lawyer.”
Isla’s face goes pale, and for the first time, she looks like she’s truly been knocked off her pedestal.
“You can’t do this,” she hisses, but Greg’s expression is unmoving.
“I can, and I just did,” he says. “You don’t get to take a bribe and go back on it. Not on my watch.”
I don’t need to say anything else. Greg’s made the decision for me. I turn to Jonah, who’s standing by the door, watching with an expression that’s half relieved, half disappointed.
We leave Isla’s office without another word as I hear my banking app chime with the money being paid right back to me.
The driver says something as I get out of the car, but I don’t register it. The words disappear behind the low hum in my ears, the static of a day I’ve already lost control of.
The building security nods as I pass. I don’t respond.
Every step toward the penthouse feels heavier than the last. Not because of what Isla said, but because of what I didn’t do. What I should’ve seen coming.
The article. Sara.
I’m a piece of shit for thinking I could just throw money at the issue and it’d all just vanish.
I’m an idiot.
My hand rests on the door for a moment longer than necessary before I open it.
She’s standing in the middle of the living room, barefoot. The same hoodie she wore this morning is hanging off one shoulder, and her arms are crossed, tight, defensive, as if she’s holding herself together with the last thread of restraint she has left.
Meatball lifts his head from the couch but doesn’t move. Even he knows not to interrupt whatever this is about to become.
She doesn’t say anything right away. Just stares at me.
The silence stretches.
“Sara,” I say, stepping inside, but the sound of her name from my own mouth feels foreign.
“You knew it was coming,” she says flatly. Her voice is calm, but it’s the calm just before a storm hits. “Didn’t you?”
I stop, three paces in. “I had reason to believe she was working on something, yes.”
Her eyes narrow. “And you didn’t think to mention that to me?”
“I was trying to get ahead of it. I met with her and tried to end it—”
She lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You tried to end it?”
“And I went to the magazine headquarters this afternoon to confront her…”
“You confronted her? After it went live? That’s not getting ahead of anything, Nick. That’s damage control.”
“I thought I’d handled it,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t want to worry you…”
“Too late.”
The words slice clean through me.
She walks toward the kitchen island, too restless to stand still. Her fingers wrap around the edge of the marble as if it’s the only solid thing left in her world.
“I didn’t know until Laura called me,” she sighs heavily. “Now I have twenty-two missed calls, and I’ve been harassed by a goddamn stranger who somehow got my personal number to ask me if I’d sold my story to People or if they could buy it first.”
I shut my eyes for a beat. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t say that like it fixes anything.”
I open my mouth. Close it again. She’s right.
She turns to face me fully now, and the pain in her eyes is worse than anything Isla could’ve written.
“I trusted you,” she says, softer now. “Not just with me. With them. With everything. I stepped into this chaos because I thought, maybe, if I held on tight enough, you’d make space for me inside of it.”
“You have space,” I say immediately, my voice low, urgent. “You are not chaos. You’re what brought me out of it.”
Her throat moves, as if she’s swallowing glass. “Then why does it feel like I’m constantly playing catch up to things you already knew were going to hit me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“By keeping me in the dark?”
“I thought I could stop it,” I admit. “I thought I could shield you from it. From her. From the spotlight. I underestimated how far Isla was willing to go. That was my mistake.”
“You’re damn right it was.”
She doesn’t raise her voice, but the weight of her anger is louder than any shouting could be.
“I didn’t sign up for this part, Nick. I didn’t sign up to be your cautionary tale.”
She looks away then, and I see her hand move instinctively toward her stomach—a small, unconscious touch that makes something twist deep in my chest.
“I thought if I could just keep moving forward,” I say, the words catching at the edges, “if I could fix the next thing, or stop the next leak, or silence the next voice, then maybe you wouldn’t have to go through what everyone else around me eventually does.
The exposure. The fallout. The scrutiny. ”
Her eyes meet mine again.
“And what if I wanted to be a part of the solution? What if I wanted you to tell me things instead of trying to clean them up behind my back?” She shakes her head. “You can’t protect me from the world if you’re not willing to stand in it beside me.”
That hits harder than anything else.
The room is quiet again, but not empty. It’s charged. Heavy with every unsaid thing between us.
“I read the article,” she says finally. “All of it. I kept waiting for the punchline. The part where you stepped in. The part where you did something. But you didn’t. It was just me. Alone.”
“I won’t let that happen again.”
“I’m not asking you to be a hero, Nick,” she says, her voice breaking. “I’m asking you to stop hiding behind the excuse of protecting me. If we’re doing this, really doing this, I need you to show up.”
I cross the room slowly, but I don’t touch her.
“I’ll do better,” I say. “I swear. I got her fired…”
“But the damage is done.”
“I know, but it still hurts.”
She doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes search mine, looking for something real. Something solid to hold onto.
And for the first time since I walked in, I see it, just the smallest crack in her armor.
Not forgiveness. Not yet.
But something close. Something human.
The beginning of a reckoning we both know we need.